Space Tag

Tonight we got some takeaway. It’s Sunday night and we are both a bit worse for wear.

One has muscle pain after running around in the cold evening breeze thinking they were 17.

The other has her usual number of worries, just because!

This week was the last week one unlucky stray kitten got to live. His short story ended under a heat lamp at the vet’s.

Next door to him three little former strays slept in a warm and cosy heap. To wake up again soon, curious and playful, for another lovely day.

This was the week when French Conversation was cancelled and we didn’t know that. Waiting, we covered everything from space travel to Cyprus problem.

This week our building shook violently with the pitter patter of four Darth Vaders playing some kind of a beastly space tag. One of the Darths had previously soothed a fading kitten but was now full of cheery fight again.

Like you want your kids to be, a while  after a disappointment.

It was when I woke up on Saturday and decided to contribute my five cents to the Cyprus question debate. My overture was met with a surprised and a tad exasperated look from the neighbouring pillow.

This one by my spouse who is a patient type

It was the week we froze in bed. Not so much because of the CyProb pillow talk but because it seems

summer is gone.


Cyprus is a wealthy country. There are no homeless or beggars visible in the streets (although I’m sure there are some homeless and paperless hiding away in mosque courtyards and abandoned houses). But one certain kind of misery is very plain to see on this lovely island every day. Animal misery.

Yesterday it suddenly got too much. Pulled over, left my kid in the car kind of misery, devastating and impossible to drive by anymore. A sick kitten in the street was so weak he didn’t even try to get out of the cars’ way. Filthy, hopeless, tiny figure in the street.

Now he’s at the vet’s. Medicated and special fed, next door to three other kitten foundlings and a fluffy house dog. He’s warm. We hope tomorrow when I visit he’ll be better.

My name is on his cage which feels strange. I’m not his momma am I? We can’t adopt him or soon I’ll be the one sick and suffering (I have asthma).
But he surely made a mark.

When my son talked to him, the kitten kept talking back. Lifted his little paw towards him against the side of the cardboard box. Then began to nod off exhausted, mid-thought. His paw still towards a friendly face and a warm voice, someone.


First morning at the clinic. All shaggy from flea spray and very sleepy too.


I wasn’t able to snap anything resembling a cat portrait because our friend was on the move all the time. ‘Let me’ said my kid!

Officially one of a million and a half. But not to us!

Because he has an old injury in his front leg but

still comes running whenever we step out the front door.

The first time my son saw him

he couldn’t think of anything but the poor broken legged cat and what would become of him.

Then we made friends with him.

And found out it’s an old problem and that

he is actually the happiest and friendliest cat we’ve ever known!

He is not in pain now.

The entire neighbourhood feeds and spoils him.

He purrs like a lawnmower.

We wish we could adopt him. But since that would slowly suffocate me to death, I’m thinking we’ll hang out instead.

Is that okay, dear little friend?

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